Friday, January 18, 2019


Ennyi: Szépség - A szépség a legnagyobb bosszú a nők körében… - Németh György – Egy gyógyszerész feljegyzései

A woman who can threaten your life before breakfast is the only sort of woman worth having.- Nora Roberts 

Simply Red

Who is't that to woman's beauty would submit,
And yet refuse the fetters of their wit ?
Aphra Behn 

Beautiful RED!

Trust me - with women worth the being won,
The softest lover ever best succeeds.
Aaron Hill 

We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It is not just in some of us; it is in everyone and as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give others permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others. - Marianne Williamson 

@marttan1  #sexy #love #woman #beauty

People are like stained - glass windows. They sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in, their true beauty is revealed only if there is a light from within. - Elisabeth Kubler-Ross

Copyright: Elisabeth Kubler-Ross Family Limited Partnership.

.For fire and bellydance work

A woman's beauty is a treasure beyond price. - Sijie Dai 

You wouldn't worry so much about what others think of you if you realized how seldom they do. - Eleanor Roosevelt 

Giorgio Armani Privé dress, price upon request, 212-988-9191; Cartier earrings, $15,900, ring, $26,300, and bracelet, price upon request, 800-CARTIER. Get the lipstick look (featured throughout) with Chanel Rouge Allure Lip Colour in Passion, $35,   -

Taking joy in living is a woman's best cosmetic.

Rosalind Russell

val's chaotic mind

Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one's courage. -Anais Nin 

I’ve never liked hats. Didn’t want them. Didn’t need them. The particular accessory seemed aggressive. Hats, of

Generally speaking, the greater a woman's beauty, the greater her modesty. - Friedrich Nietzsche 

Veils really *do something* for a woman.  Why in the world did they ever fall out of fashion?

You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure about you. We were born to manifest the glory of God that is within us. - Marianne Williamson 

If you are looking for a great Hair color Idea for your hair, You should take a look in the collection we have got over here. Check out the collection above. #fallhaircolorforfairskin #fallhaircolorforfairskinblueeyes #fallhaircolorforfairskinhazeleyes #fallhaircolorforfairskinbrowneyes

Monday, January 14, 2019

HEALTHY HEART - by Ryson D'souza

        HEALTHY HEART       

 by Ryson D'souza

Your heart is healthy
If your body is fine
Don't Forget;
Healthy heart needs a clear Mind.

Stay away from Stress & Tension.
Your heart needs your clear attention.
Your eating habits must be defined
For a healthy heart; keep this in mind.

Workout daily to burn extra fat
Your working out correctly; be sure of that.
Give equal time & importance; for body and mind
Cause your heart is healthy; if your body is fine

BLOOD DONATION - by Izza Fartmis - Morocco


by Izza Fartmis - Morocco

Here is my precious blood,
The dearest I've ever had,
My parents' and my legacy
By true decree, not fallacy.

Here's my scarlet blood,
With my love dyed in red;
Its white globules are a balm
Transporting peace and calm,

Here's my blood dripping
Out with red and while petals,
Sly messengers to hospitals
Booing out death's slipping;

Here's my blood to re-use
Bearing my traits and values;
Meaning so little in view,
But so much to help rescue

Some souls in helpless need,
Some victims of a blind war,
Or of a reckless driving corps
Or a dry-sick heart to feed.

Here's my blood; who knows ?
As the wind oft randomly blows,
As it goes the other way round,
In such need I may also be found.

Here's my blood not like a gift
But human due, to my credit;
I will never forhold its donation
Regardless of its destination.

O, SO LONELY - by Cecelia Weir


 by Cecelia Weir

O So Lonely
Are the days gone by.
When others enter your life
Then you push them by.

O So Lonely
When you were in control.
To love them or leave them
You were ever so bold.

O So Lonely
While you sit alone.
No one is there
To make your house a home.

O So Lonely
After all the hearts you break.
Did you ever think it was you
Who you'd really forsake?

O So Lonely
When life was just a dare.
You didn't take time to love
You didn't try to care.

O So Lonely
Have you learned the rule?
That its not just about you
But it does take two.

O So Lonely
Why sit and contemplate?
While others enjoy life
Its never too late 

Sunday, January 13, 2019


Henry Inman (July 30, 1837 – November 13, 1899) was a soldier, frontiersman, and author. He served the military during the Indian campaigns and the American Civil War, having earned distinction for gallantry on the battlefield. He was commissioned lieutenant general during the Indian wars. He settled in Kansas and worked as a journalist and author of short stories and books of the plains and western frontier. He was a friend and associate of Buffalo Bill and served under General Custer. 

In 1878, he began working as a journalist for the Larned Enterprise, also called the Larned Chronoscope, and was the editor of six newspapers.

He wrote of his adventures on the plains. His short stories were printed in magazines and newspapers. He wrote about his experiences on the plains and the western frontier. One of his books was written with Buffalo Bill, The Great Salt Lake Trail. Buffalo Bill was named as co-author because Inman used a number of quotes from Cody's autobiographical book, Story of the Wild West. Inman's book, The Old Santa Fe Trail is also said to contain content from Buffalo Bill's autobiography. He also wrote A Pioneer from Kentucky, The Delahoydes, Tales of the Trail, The Ranch on the Ox-hide, and Buffalo Jones. At the time of his death, three books were being published, The Cruise of the Prairie Schooner, Muriel, the Colonel's Daughter, and Pick Smith, the Scout.

He married Eunice Churchill Dyer (1842–1922), the daughter of a shipbuilder, in Portland, Maine on October 22, 1862. They had a son and two daughters. While in the hospital he met a homeless boy who was blind, he took him in and the two were constant companions. He lived a great deal of his life in Kansas, first in military posts, then settling in Larned and then the Auburndale neighborhood of Topeka. Inman died on November 13, 1899 in Topeka, Kansas and was buried at Ellsworth Cemetery.

He was said to have looked like his friend Buffalo Bill when they were together. Lake Inman and the nearby town of Inman, Kansas were named for him. He was on the board of directors of the Kansas Historical Society.


To the old trapper and hunter of the palmy days of '68 and '70, I dedicate this chapter. That time is now faded into the past, and so far faded, indeed, that the present generation knows not its sympathy nor its sentiment.

The buffalo—as my thoughts turn to the past, the memory of their "age" (if I may so call it) crowds upon me. I remember when the eye could not measure their numbers. I saw a herd delay a railroad train from 9 o'clock in the morning until 5 o'clock in the afternoon. Countless millions, divided by its leaders and captains like an immense army! How many millions there were, none could guess. On each side of us, and as far as we could see our vision was limited only by the extended horizon of the flat prairie, the whole vast area was black with the surging mass of affrighted animals, as they rushed onward to the south in a mad stampede.

At another time Gens. Sheridan, Custer, Sully, and myself rode through another and larger one, for three consecutive days. This was in the fall of 1868. It seems almost impossible to those who have seen them, as numerous apparently as the sands of the seashore, feeding on the illimitable natural pasturage of the Great Plains, that the buffalo should have become practically extinct. When I look back only twenty-five years and recall the fact that they swarmed in countless numbers even then as far east as Fort Harker, only 200 miles west from the Missouri river, I ask myself, "Have they all disappeared?" And yet, such is the fact. Two causes can be assigned for this great hecatomb: First, the demand for their hides, which brought about a great invasion of hunters into this region; and second, the crowds of thoughtless tourists who crossed the continent for the mere novelty and pleasure of the trip. This latter class heartlessly killed for the excitement of the new experience as they rode along in the cars at a low rate of speed, often never touching a particle of the flesh of their victims, or possessing themselves of a single robe.

The former, numbering hundreds of old frontiersmen, all expert shots, with thousands of novices, the pioneer settlers on the public domain, day after day for years made it a lucrative business to kill for the robes alone, a market for which had suddenly sprung up all over the country.

The beginning of the end was marked by the completion of the Kansas Pacific across the Plains to the foot-hills of the Rockies in 1868, this being the western limit of the buffalo range.

In 1872 a writer in "The Buffalo Land" said:

"Probably the most cruel of all bison-shooting pastime is that of firing from the cars. During certain periods in the spring and fall, when the large herds are crossing the Kansas Pacific Railroad, the trains run for a hundred miles or more among countless thousands of the shaggy monarchs of the Plains. The bison has a strange and entirely unaccountable instinct or habit which leads it to attempt crossing in front of any moving object near it. It frequently happened, in the time of the old stages, that the driver had to rein up his horses until the herd which he had started had crossed the road ahead of him. To accomplish this feat, if the object of their fright was moving rapidly, the animals would often run for miles.

"When the iron horse comes rushing into their solitudes, and snorting out his fierce alarms, the herds, though perhaps half a mile from his path, will lift their heads and gaze intently for a few minutes toward the object thus approaching them with a roar which causes the earth to tremble, and enveloped in a white cloud that streams further and higher than the dust of the old stage-coach ever did; and then, having determined its course, instead of fleeing back to the distant valleys, away they go, charging over the ridge across which the iron rails lie, apparently determined to cross in front of the locomotive at all hazards. The rate per mile of the passenger trains is slow upon the Plains, and hence it often happens that the cars and buffaloes will be side by side for a mile or two, the brutes abandoning the effort to cross only when their foe has emerged entirely ahead. During these races the car windows are opened, and numerous breech-loaders fling hundreds of bullets among the densely crowded and fast-flying masses. Many of the poor animals fall, and more go off to die in the ravines. The train speeds on, and the act is repeated every few miles until Buffalo Land is passed."

Almost with prophetic eye he continued:

"Let this slaughter continue for ten years, and the bison of the American continent will become extinct. The number of valuable robes and pounds of meat which would thus be lost to us and posterity, will run too far into the millions to be easily calculated. All over the Plains, lying in disgusting masses of putrefaction along valley and hill, are strewn immense carcasses of wantonly slain buffalo. They line the Kansas Pacific road for two hundred miles."

A great herd of buffaloes on the Plains in the early days, when one could approach near enough without disturbing it to quietly watch its organization, and the apparent discipline which its leaders seemed to exact, was a very curious sight. Among the striking features of the spectacle was the apparently uniform manner in which the immense mass of shaggy animals moved; there was constancy of action indicating a degree of intelligence to be found only in the most intelligent of the brute creation. Frequently the larger herd was broken up into many smaller ones, that traveled relatively close together, each led by an independent master. Perhaps only a few rods marked the dividing-line between them, but it was always unmistakably plain, and each moved synchronously in the direction in which all were going.

The leadership of the herd was attained only by hard struggles for the place; once reached, however, the victor was immediately recognized, and kept his authority until some new aspirant overcame him, or he became superannuated and was driven out of the herd to meet his inevitable fate, a prey to those ghouls of the desert, the gray wolves.

In the event of a stampede, every animal of the separate yet consolidated herds rushed off together, as if all had gone mad at once; for the buffalo, like the Texas steer, mule, or domestic horse, stampedes on the slightest provocation, frequently without any assignable cause. Sometimes the simplest affair will start the whole herd: a prairie-dog barking at the entrance of his burrow, a shadow of one of themselves or that of a passing cloud, is sufficient to make them run for miles as if a real and dangerous enemy were at their heels.

Stampedes were a great source of profit to the Indians of the Plains. The Comanches were particularly expert and daring in this kind of robbery. They even trained their horses to run from one point to another, in expectation of the coming of the wagon trains on the trail. When a camp was made that was nearly in range, they turned their trained animals loose, which at once flew across the prairie, passing through the herd and penetrating the very corrals of their victims. All of the picketed horses and mules would endeavor to follow these decoys, and were invariably led right into the haunts of the Indians, who easily secured them. Young horses and mules were easily frightened; and in the confusion which generally ensued, great injury was frequently done to the runaways themselves.

At times when the herd was very large, the horses scattered over the prairie and were irrevocably lost; and such as did not become wild fell a prey to the wolves. That fate was very frequently the lot of stampeded horses bred in the States, they not having been trained by a prairie life to care for themselves. Instead of stopping and bravely fighting off the bloodthirsty beasts, they would run. Then the whole pack were sure to leave the bolder animals and make for the runaways, which they seldom failed to overtake and dispatch.

Like an army, a herd of buffaloes put out vedettes to give the alarm in case anything beyond the ordinary occurred. These sentinels were always to be seen in groups of four, five, or even six, at some distance from the main body. When they saw something approaching that the herd should beware of or get away from, they started on the run directly for the center of the great mass of their peacefully grazing congeners. Meanwhile, the young bulls were on duty as sentinels on the edge of the main herd, watching the vedettes; the moment the latter made for the center, the former raised their heads, and in the peculiar manner of their species gazed all around and sniffed the air as if they could smell both the danger and its direction. Should there be something which their instinct told them to guard against, the leader took his position in front, the cows and calves crowded in the center, while the rest of the males gathered on the flanks and in the rear, indicating a gallantry that might be imitated at times by the genus homo.

Generally, buffalo went to their drinking-place but once a day, and that late in the afternoon. Then they ambled along, following each other in single file, which accounts for the many trails on the Plains, always ending at some stream or lake. They frequently traveled twenty or thirty miles for water; so the trails leading to it were often worn to the depth of a foot or more.

That curious depression so frequently seen on the Great Plains, called a "buffalo wallow," is caused in this wise: The huge animals paw and lick the salty, alkaline earth, and when once the sod is broken the loose soil drifts away under the constant action of the wind. Then, year after year, through more pawing, licking, rolling and wallowing by the animals, the wind wafts more of the soil away, and soon there is a considerable hole in the prairie.

Many an old trapper and hunter's life has been saved by following a buffalo trail when he was suffering from thirst. The buffalo wallows usually retain a great quantity of water, and they have often saved the lives of whole companies of cavalry, both men and horses.

There was, however, a stranger and more wonderful spectacle to be seen every recurring spring during the reign of the buffalo, soon after the grass had started. There were circles trodden bare on the Plains, thousands, yes, millions of them, which the early travelers, who did not divine their cause, called "fairy rings." From the first of April until the middle of May was the wet season; you could depend upon its recurrence almost as certainly as on the sun and moon rising at the proper time. This was also the calving period of the buffalo, as they, unlike our domestic animals, only rutted during a single month; consequently the cows all calved during a certain time; this was the wet month, and as there were a great many gray wolves that roamed singly or in immense packs over the whole prairie region, the bulls, in their regular beats, kept guard over the cows while in the act of parturition, and drove the wolves away, walking in a ring around the females at a short distance, and thus forming the curious circles.

In every herd at each recurring season there were always ambitious young bulls that came to their majority, so to speak, and these were ever ready to test their claims for the leadership; so that it may be safely stated that a month rarely passed without a bloody battle between them for the supremacy though, strangely enough, the struggle seldom resulted in the death of either combatant.

Perhaps there is no animal in which maternal love is more strongly developed than in the buffalo cow; she is as dangerous with a calf by her side as a she-grizzly with cubs.

The buffalo bull that has outlived his usefulness is one of the most pitiable objects in the whole range of natural history. Old age has probably been decided in the economy of buffalo life as the unpardonable sin. Abandoned to his fate, he may be discovered in his dreary isolation, near some stream or lake, where it does not tax him too severely to find good grass; for he is now feeble, and exertion an impossibility. In this new stage of his existence he seems to have completely lost his courage. Frightened at his own shadow, or the rustling of a leaf, he is the very incarnation of nervousness and suspicion. Gregarious in his habits from birth, solitude, foreign to his whole nature, has changed him into a new creature; and his inherent terror of the most trivial things is intensified to such a degree that if a man were compelled to undergo such constant alarm, it would probably drive him insane in less than a week. Nobody ever saw one of these miserable and forlorn creatures dying a natural death, or even heard of such an occurrence. The cowardly coyote and the gray wolf had already marked him for their own; and they rarely missed their calculations.

Rising suddenly to the top of a divide with a party of friends in 1866, we saw standing below us in the valley an old buffalo bull, the very picture of despair. Surrounding him were seven gray wolves in the act of challenging him to mortal combat. The poor beast, undoubtedly realizing the hopelessness of his situation, had determined to die game. His great shaggy head, filled with burrs, was lowered to the ground as he confronted his would-be executioners; his tongue, black and parched, lolled out of his mouth, and he gave utterance at intervals to a suppressed roar.

The wolves were sitting on their haunches in a semicircle immediately in front of the tortured beast, and every time that the fear-stricken buffalo gave vent to his hoarsely modulated groan, the wolves howled in concert in most mournful cadence.

After contemplating his antagonists for a few moments, the bull made a dash at the nearest wolf, tumbling him howling over the silent prairie; but while this diversion was going on in front, the remainder of the pack started for his hind legs to hamstring him. Upon this the poor beast turned to the point of attack, only to receive a repetition of it in the same vulnerable place by the wolves, who had as quickly turned also and fastened themselves on his heels again. His hind quarters now streamed with blood, and he began to show signs of great physical weakness. He did not dare to lie down; that would have been instantly fatal. By this time he had killed three of the wolves, or so maimed them that they were entirely out of the fight.

At this juncture the suffering animal was mercifully shot, and the wolves allowed to batten on his thin and tough carcass.

File:The Last of the Buffalo.jpg

Albert Bierstadt  1830 –  1902 -: The Last of the Buffalo 

«Ulger»: authorial dolls of Namdakov family - Dolls showcasing the mysterious characters from ancient Buryatian legends

Namdakov's dolls

Namdakov's dolls

 «Ulger»: authorial dolls of Namdakov family  - The dolls represent mysterious figures of ancient legends of the Buryatian people in Siberia, a Buddhist population. All were created by the family of prominent sculptor Dashi Namdakov, based on his sketches.

The parents and seven of his brothers and sisters draw, and many linked their lives with arts and crafts. All of them work in the family workshop in Ulan-Ude, which is located on the second floor of the parent's house.

The 11 dolls represent the figures of ancient legends of the Buryatian people in Siberia, a Buddhist population. All were created by the family of prominent sculptor Dashi Namdakov, based on his sketches.
The parents and seven of his brothers and sisters draw, and many linked their lives with arts and crafts. All of them work in the family workshop in Ulan-Ude, which is located on the second floor of the parent's house.

Dashi's eldest sister Dorzhima Namdakova said: 'All our family is working on the dolls. Dashi draws for us the sketches, a simple black and white pencil sketch, and the rest was up to us, which colours to choose.

Namdakov's dolls

Namdakov's dolls


куклыДашиНамадкова (72 of 87)

куклыДашиНамадкова (12 of 87)

куклыДашиНамадкова (18 of 87)

куклыДашиНамадкова (21 of 87)

куклыДашиНамадкова (26 of 87)

куклыДашиНамадкова (31 of 87)

куклыДашиНамадкова (33 of 87)

куклыДашиНамадкова (36 of 87)

куклыДашиНамадкова (40 of 87)

куклыДашиНамадкова (42 of 87)

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куклыДашиНамадкова (54 of 87)

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Dorzhima Namdakova

Dashi's eldest sister Dorzhima Namdakova said: 'All our family is working on the dolls. Dashi draws for us the sketches, a simple black and white pencil sketch, and the rest was up to us, which colours to choose

Looking at the sketch, the mind thinks whether to do this or that: whether to use leather... or something else, which colours to choose - pastel or bright. I do not know from where these ideas came.
'Our elder brother is a jeweller, making frames and bases, my sister and I sew costumes, doing makeup and wigs. Our parents always help. At least 7 people worked on each doll.'
Dashi said at the opening: 'I am happy that I can now present this exhibition. This is very delicate, difficult work, but the masters made it all filigreed. If it was leather, they cleaned it up to the thickness of the paper. And there are such patterns of fabric, beaded decorations, hair to hair on the heads - I could not even draw it in such way.'

Their dolls are in huge demand and have travelled the world after being bought, he said. Dollmaking is 'the life of my family. It is such a pleasure for them. 'And all is around our father and mother, all the children are around and they are happy with this.'
No two dolls are the same. Dashi said: 'Generally speaking it is a sculpture, but unlike, for example, bronze sculptures, which I do, here used a million different techniques. Everything is made by hand, each pattern is unique.'

The first doll was made in 2005 and was bought by rock musician Andrey Makarevich. 

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